


Neapolitan

by foxandbee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Ice Cream, It's really really hot, Louis is overly dramatic, Mindless Fluff, Why Did I Write This?, a bit of Ziall thrown in for the heck of it, and there's too many italics, as in the temperature, as per usual, just ignore my tagging please, skater louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxandbee/pseuds/foxandbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s as he’s lying there on the hard, sticky tiles that it dawns on Louis that maybe this wasn’t the best course of action. He could’ve just left the store before the boy came back. But then he’d never be able to show his face in here again and the pretty boy would be left for all eternity thinking that Louis is a weirdo. Louis pouts at that idea. He could’ve just waited for the boy, apologised, and explained that choosing just one ice-cream was so hard, what with their bountiful array of flavours. But no. Louis always has to go for the most dramatic option doesn’t he? He just can’t be a normal human.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Or the story where Harry's a pretty boy in an ice-cream parlour and Louis embarrasses himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neapolitan

**Author's Note:**

> The best part about this fic was the 'research' I did for it.  
> I hope you enjoy! xxx
> 
> I've already found this on Ebooks-Tree and I DO NOT want to find it on Goodreads. DON'T DO THAT, IT'S NOT COOL. I expressly _do not_ give my permission for _my work_ to be re-posted on Goodreads, Ebooks-Tree, or any other such websites. It's really sad that I have to write this disclaimer in the first place.

Louis is dying. It is slow and it is painful and Louis is dying. Drenched in sweat, dry throat constricting, lungs burning with the effort of drawing his final gasps kind of dying. Louis is _burning._

And it is all fucking _Zayn’s_ fault. He’s perfectly content to fester away inside their flat, pouting and smoking and writing god awful poetry, for the vast majority of the year, only to announce that he’s going out on what is now known to be the single hottest day in British history. Louis is torn between planting a great, big, sloppy one on his ridiculous cheekbones and clobbering him over the head with one of his own stupid Docs. Because normally this kind of announcement would please Louis to no end. He’s always trying to get Zayn out of the apartment, trying to coax him into doing actual people-things during actual day-light hours. And so he’s immensely proud that Zayn has decided to venture into the outside world of his own volition. However, Louis is also pissed, because Zayn has somehow wheedled Louis into joining him.

Louis was almost finished his morning shift at the record store when Zayn called. He was meticulously shelving records according to his very precise sorting system, creatively dubbed _Art and Shit_. As the name may suggest, Louis’ system runs on a very stringent principle; art on one shelf and shit on the other. _The Beatles_ on one shelf, fucking _The Wanted_ on the other. Nick has expressly told Louis on multiple occasions that his system is not appreciated. Apparently some customers have complaints when they ask for their favourite artists and are told to go look for them on The Shit Shelf. But Louis continues on, regardless of how many times his boss threatens to fire him. He’s confident in his job security due to Nick’s planet-sized crush on him. Nick still thinks Louis is oblivious to it and Louis only sometimes uses it to his advantage. Only sometimes, like when he takes personal phone calls during working hours.

“Good morning, Zaynie Poo. What’re we brooding over today?” Louis answered his phone that morning with a cheeky smile and a wiggle of his fingers at Nick, who tried to cover his blush by glaring.

“Oh fuck off,” Zayn replied without heat. “ ‘M not brooding today actually, I’m going out.”

Louis had to grab the nearest shelf to steady himself. “What?” Louis gasped. “You mean you’re actually braving the sunlight? _Willingly_?”

“I’m going to do you a favour and ignore everything you just said, you sarcastic tit.”

“No, seriously, Zayn, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say this. This is exactly the type of milestone your doctor said to celebrate. Should I pick up a cake on the way home?”

“Fuck you, Louis,” Zayn said cheerfully. “I’m going to the skate park. And you’re coming with.”

Louis scrunched up his nose at that. “What? Why? And no, I’m not.”

“Because Niall Horan is going to be there. And yes, you are.”

Louis resisted the urge to coo at Zayn. “That’s adorable. How do you even know Niall’s going?”

“Because I stalk him on Facebook.” Not so adorable.

“Okay, no, Zayn that’s so creepy. How many times have we had this discussion? We don’t creep on the people we like. Just talk to the damn kid. Save us both from your incessant pining. _Please_ , I beg of you.”

“I will, I am, that’s why I’m going to the skate park. Today’s the day. I’m gonna talk to him,” Zayn said defiantly.

“That’s really brilliant, Z. I’m proud of you.” And Louis was honestly proud of his best mate. “I’m still not going, though.”

“Oh come on, Lou, _please_.”

“Do you realise how sweltering it is out there today? My only plans for this afternoon involve air-con and ice. And maybe some free internet porn, if I’m in the mood. And none of those things can be found at a concrete bowl in the ground with no shade for miles.”

“ _Really_ didn’t want to know that, Louis.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, love.”

“We were drunk and we agreed to never speak of it again!” Zayn shrieked.

“You want me,” Louis said, rubbing over his nipple, then he remembered that Zayn couldn’t see him so he added a moan for effect. A squeak and a crash sounded from the end of the aisle and Louis turned to find Nick staring at him, biting his lip. Louis winked and Nick fled into the bathroom.

“Ugh, Louis, no, just – Just _please_ come with me, Lou, _please_. I need you, Boo.”

And that is the reason Louis now finds himself rolling dejectedly along the pavement as his muscles melt away from his bones in 38 degree heat. _38 fucking degrees_. When did England relocate to the Equator and why wasn’t Louis informed?

As Louis sluggishly pushes his board along he wonders why Niall would even go out skating today in the first place. He thought all Irishmen were allergic to the sun. So shouldn’t Niall be bursting into flames right now? Or sparkling at the very least? What’s the highest SPF sunscreen available?

Suddenly Louis’ skateboard comes to a jerking stop and he’s thrown forwards off it. He manages to land on his feet, because he’s a goddamn _ninja_ , but only narrowly avoids what would’ve been a very embarrassing collision with a burly construction worker. The construction worker is bent-over at the waist, setting up some orange cones, and in other circumstances Louis would _love_ to have a burly construction worker bent over for him. Or, more accurately, have them bend him over. But not in the middle of the street. Actually, no, Louis has done that once before. So not in the middle of the street _in broad daylight._

Louis turns back to his board, wondering what threw him off in the first place, and finds the front wheels stuck in a line of tar. It is so fucking hot that the tar in between the cracks of the pavement has _literally melted._

He looks out at the street and sees the heat shimmering in waves as it radiates off the asphalt. Across the road the park is empty, the usual crowd of old folks and young families having taken shelter in cooler indoor climates. Even the ducks in the pond have retreated to the shadows, floating, quiet and still, under the fronds of a willow tree. Fucking _birds_ are smarter than Louis is. They have the good sense to take cover, whereas as Louis is just standing here, in the scorching heat, as the sun’s rays blaze down on him. He can physically feel his skin burning, his pulse beating a steady rhythm in his temples and his vision is swimming in and out of focus. He feels vaguely like he wants to throw up.

He spies an ice-cream parlour and makes the snap decision to take a well deserved break. Zayn can wait. Louis’ no use as a wingman if he’s dead.

Walking inside the store is like walking into a brick wall. A brick wall of chilled, sweet-smelling air that soothes his throbbing head. Goosebumps breakout on his arms as the air-conditioning cools his sweat. Louis wants to get on his knees and kiss this blessed ground, but that’d be just a bit too weird, even for him.

There are only two other customers in the shop, a young mother and her blond haired toddler. The little girl is standing up on the counter, clapping her hands and bouncing as an employee plops gummy bears on top of her little bowl of rainbow ice-cream. He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes as he slides their order across the counter.

“Lux, baby, say thank you to the lovely boy,” her mother instructs.

The little girl grabs the boy’s face in both her tiny hands and smacks an ice-creamy kiss on his cheek. He laughs, a loud, raucous seal-bark, before he slaps a hand over his mouth.

The girls move away, heading for the door, and Louis gets his first good look at the boy.

And Louis thinks it is _so_ fitting that this boy’s job is to scoop ice-cream. Because he’s got chocolate curls, vanilla skin and strawberry lips.

“Neapolitan,” Louis breathes, awestruck.

“Sure, coming right up,” the boy says with a smile and _fuck_. He’s got dimples.

It takes a couple of seconds for Louis to snap out of his haze and when he does he realises that the boy thinks he just ordered.

“Wait, no!”

The boy looks up from where he’s scooping vanilla out of the tub and furrows his brows at Louis. “You don’t want the Neapolitan?”

Louis’ eyes are drawn to where the boy’s toned biceps are bulging deliciously as he flexes. He wonders how strong the boy is, if he’d be able to pick Louis up and hold him against the counter.

Louis groans. “ _God_ , yes, I want it.”

The boy glances around the empty store, confused, and then settles his gaze back on Louis. “So, um, do you want the ice-cream? Or, uh, not?”

Louis can only stare, wide eyed and mouth watering, at where the boy has started to nibble anxiously on his bottom lip. “ _You’re_ Neapolitan.”

The boy drops his scooper and backs away from the counter. “Let me just go get my manager,” he says slowly and then he’s spinning around and disappearing into the back room.

Now that the boy is gone Louis no longer feels drugged. The synapses in his brain fire back up and Louis realises that he just scared this gorgeous specimen into _literally running away from him._

Well. Fuck.

This boy probably thinks Louis is a complete freak. Which, admittedly, Louis is, but he usually wouldn’t let pretty boys see that until he got them between the sheets.

So he reacts in the first way he can think of and drops to the floor. When in doubt, play dead. A motto to live by.

It’s as he’s lying there on the hard, sticky tiles that it dawns on Louis that _maybe_ this wasn’t the best course of action. He could’ve just left the store before the boy came back. But then he’d never be able to show his face in here again and the pretty boy would be left for all eternity thinking that Louis is a weirdo. Louis pouts at that idea. He could’ve just waited for the boy, apologised, and explained that choosing just one ice-cream was so hard, what with their bountiful array of flavours. But _no._ Louis always has to go for the most dramatic option doesn’t he? He just can’t be a normal human.

Before Louis has any more time to ponder his life choices, he hears voices coming from the back room, getting steadily nearer.

“I dunno, Li. He was just saying some really weird stuff.” God, even his voice is rich and smooth, like Rum Raisin Royale.

“What kind of stuff?” another voice asks, but Louis can’t think of a flavour to match.

“He told me I was Neapolitan.”

“Okay, that’s definitely abnormal.”

“Right?”

Through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the counter Louis sees two pairs of shoes walk out of a door. They stop and Louis squeezes his eyes closed, holding his breath.

“Uh, where’s he gone, Harry?”

 _Harry_. Louis would swoon, if he wasn’t already horizontal.

“He – He was right here a second- Oh _shit_.”

Louis can hear running footsteps and then a body drops down beside him.

“Fuck, Harry, what happened to him?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” A cool hand is placed on his cheek. “Fuck, he is _so_ hot.” _Why thank you, you’re not too bad yourself_. “It could be heat stroke.” Oh, hot as in temperature-wise. Damn.

“Pulse?” The other voice sounds frantic.

Fingertips press into the soft skin under Louis’ jaw and he would definitely like to feel that all over his body.

“Really fast. Like really, _really_ fast. Fuck, I don’t think he’s breathing.”

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

And okay, Louis’ embarrassed himself enough without getting emergency services involved too. He coughs and takes in a shuddering breath, internally berating himself for the horrible soap opera over-acting.

“Wait, Liam, hold that thought. I think he’s waking up.” Louis will never laugh at _Neighbours_ again.

Louis flutters his eyelashes a couple times for good measure and then slowly blinks his eyes open. When he looks up he finds Harry kneeling over him, flyaway curls haloed by the fluorescent lights of the shop, shining green eyes searching his face, and Louis thinks that’s a view he could get used to.

“Hey, mate, you alright?”

“Um, I – I think so, yeah,” Louis replies, a slight shake to his words, and damn, Louis’ going to ace his drama degree.

“You think you’re okay to sit up?”

Louis nods hesitantly and Harry leans forward to help him. He gently places his hands under Louis’ arms and Louis has to take deep breaths when he sees how Harry’s thumbs overlap each other at the centre of his rip cage. Right now would be a very inappropriate time to get hard.

Harry positions Louis so he’s lent up against the counter and then sits cross legged on the floor in front of him.

“ ‘M Harry,” he says, sticking out his hand.

“Louis,” Louis replies, gulping when Harry’s giant, pale hand swallows up his smaller, tan one. They’re complete opposites, and they fit together seamlessly.

“Hi,” Harry breathes.

“Hi,” Louis whispers back.

Liam, a broad shouldered boy with a neatly styled quiff and worried eyes, hands Louis a glass of ice-cold water. “Do you remember what happened, Louis?”

Louis’ eyes flick between the two of them and good lord, they’re actually buying this.

“I – I’m not really sure. I remember walking into the store, and then my vision, it like, tunneled sort of? And then everything kind of went black and white and next thing I knew I was on the ground.” Louis has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. He’s just going off what Lottie said when she fainted that one time while dissecting a rat in Biology. Louis bites his bottom lip and sees Harry’s eyes go fuzzy.

When he speaks his voice sounds deeper than before, more gravelly. “Do you, ah, do you remember anything you said? When you first came in?”

Louis shakes his head slowly. If he pretends he’s forgotten then maybe Harry will too. “Why? Did I say something bad?”

Liam opens his mouth but Harry barrels over the top of him. “Nope, not at all.”

_Thank you, Jesus._

Louis goes to stand up but Harry pushes him gently down again with a warm palm on his chest. “You should probably stay here for a while. Maybe not a good idea to go back out into the heat. I can, um, I could keep you company. I mean, if you, uh, if you want?”

Louis bites his lip again to tamp down the grin threatening to take over his face. Probably best not to look too eager when he ‘fainted’ not ten minutes ago. He has a feeling his eyes are sparkling anyway.

“That’d be nice, yeah.”

“Is there anyone we can call for you in the meantime?” Liam asks.

Louis _really_ wants to say no, but then he thinks about Zayn and the verbal arse-whooping he’ll be in for if he doesn’t turn up at the skate park without good reason.

“Uh, yeah,” Louis says, fishing his phone out of his pocket and handing it over to Liam. “I was supposed to meet Zayn. He’s probably worried. He’s the first number on speed dial.”

When he looks back over Harry is frowning and picking at a loose thread on his apron.

“I’ll give him a ring for you. Why don’t you guys move up to a booth? They’re ten times more comfortable than the floor and more hygienic too.”

Ten minutes later Louis is sat in a mint green vinyl booth with a laughing Harry across from him and a bowl of butterscotch ice-cream in front of him, and he _really_ thinks he could get used to this. He’s currently trying to lick up his ice-cream with his tongue because, “cutlery sucks all the fun out of life, dear Harold.”

“Oh my god, Lou,” Harry cackles. “You’ve got ice-cream _everywhere_.”

“What? Where?” Louis pouts. “Here?” And touches his fingers to his cheek, only succeeding in smearing more stickiness around.

“No, you goose!” Harry giggles. “You’re hopeless, let me get it.”

Then he leans over the table, reaching for Louis’ face. When the soft pad of Harry’s thumb connects with Louis’ bottom lip Harry stops laughing. Louis stops smiling. The world in general seems to stop everything and shrinks rapidly in size, so that all it contains is two boys and some melting ice-cream in a pastel parlour booth.

Ever so slowly Louis licks out his tongue so it’s brushing against Harry’s thumb. Harry’s breath hitches and Louis would very much like to stay suspended here for the rest of his days.

But he can’t.

And it is all fucking _Zayn’s_ fault. Zayn who comes bursting through the parlour doors with a confused looking Niall in tow.

“Boobear! Oh my god! Are you okay?”

Harry snatches his hand back like he’s been stung and Zayn crash tackles Louis into the padded bench.

“I’m fine, Z. Honestly, I just got a bit over-heated is all,” Louis says, patting Zayn on the back and shooting an apologetic look at Harry.

“This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have made you come meet me. I am so sorry, Boo.”

“It’s _fine_.”

Harry stands abruptly from the booth and brushes off his apron.

“I should probably get back to work now. I mean, you don’t need me to watch you anymore, right?” he says, not looking Louis in the eye.

And, oh. That probably shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Because Louis first laid eyes on Harry only half an hour ago. He’s just the weirdo who collapsed on the floor of Harry’s workplace and inconvenienced him for twenty minutes. He shouldn’t have expected to mean anything more to Harry than that. But he kind of did, and so the words kind of sting.

But he pastes a fake smile on his face and shows the world that he’s not hurting, because that’s how Louis handles everything.

“Yeah, mate. Thank you though, really.”

Zayn peels himself off of Louis and clambers up to pump Harry’s hand vigorously. “Thank you so, so much for looking after him.”

Harry smiles, but his dimples stay hidden. “Not a problem.” Then he finally looks at Louis again. “Bye Louis.”

“See ya, Harry,” Louis replies quietly.

And then he’s gone, slipping away into the back room.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Niall walks Zayn and Louis back to their apartment and Louis stays quiet, holding his skateboard and counting the lines of melted tar in the pavement.

When they reach the front door Niall stops and shoves his hands in his pockets. “So, um, Zayn, I feel kinda bad about today.”

Zayn’s eyes widen where they’re locked onto the doorknob. “Uh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because we were in an ice-cream parlour!” Niall explodes, making both Zayn and Louis jump. “We were standing right there, in an _ice-cream parlour_ , and I didn’t even offer to buy you something!”

“Well maybe you could make it up to me tomorrow night?”

And, _what_? Did Louis just physically witness Zayn finally growing some balls?

“Yeah,” Niall grins. “Yeah I’d like that.”

Zayn’s entire being just glows, which may have something to do with the vibrant red he’s sporting on his cheeks, and Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Zayn was floating three inches off the ground right now.

Louis thinks he might collapse again, or for the first time, whatever, if he has to stay here and watch Zayn and Niall make heart-eyes at each other.

He pushes his way into the apartment to go find his air-con, ice and porn.

*******

Two days later Louis plucks up enough courage to return to the ice-cream parlour. Harry is once again scooping ice-cream behind the counter so Louis waits until the gaggle of teenage girls have been served before he makes his way over.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Harry asks without looking up.

“Heya Harry.”

Harry’s head snaps up and Louis is once again met with flyaway curls and wide green eyes. “Louis, hi,” Harry breathes.

They stand in awkward silence for a minute, just watching each other, until Harry clears his throat.

“So, um, how are you?” He asks, and then busies himself with rearranging the waffle cones.

“I’m good, yeah, feeling much better. I just wanted to come in and say thank you again for, you know, looking after me and stuff.”

“Like I said, ‘s not a problem. Just doing my job.”

“Right.” Louis scuffs the toe of his Vans on the tile where his arse was not 48 hours ago.

“At least one good thing came out of it though.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Harry’s now sorting sprinkles into different containers.

“Zayn and Niall finally got their shit together.”

Chocolate sprinkles go flying everywhere and Harry finally meets Louis’ eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, it was kinda cute if I’m honest.”

“Oh.”

When Harry doesn’t say anything else Louis gives up and turns to walk away.

“Louis, wait!”

Louis spins back around. “Yeah?”

“Do you, um, would you like to have some ice-cream? With me?”

Louis grins.

They spilt a Neapolitan Sundae in their mint green vinyl booth.

*******

Six months later Harry is staring up at Louis from the front row as Louis dies on stage in his university’s production of Romeo and Juliet. After the show, Louis wanders backstage and finds Harry with his arms crossed and an accusation in his eyes.

“You never had heat stroke, did you?”

“Erm, well, no. Not exactly.”

Harry uncrosses his arms and huffs out a breath.

“Oh my god. I’m in love with a weirdo.”


End file.
